


Haunt - Art

by drizzlydaze, Rohnoc



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Art, X-Men Reverse Big Bang Challenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-08
Updated: 2015-02-08
Packaged: 2018-03-11 03:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3312761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drizzlydaze/pseuds/drizzlydaze, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rohnoc/pseuds/Rohnoc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On the trail of his missing sister, private detective Charles Xavier comes to the small town of Lockheed. It's just his luck when the murders begin and he finds himself embroiled in a mystery fifty years past. People say it's the ghosts of Grey House come back for revenge, but as Charles knows, there's no such things as ghosts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haunt - Art

**Author's Note:**

> Art for the wonderful Drizzlydaze's [Haunt](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3299720).
> 
> Also posted to [Tumblr](http://rohnoc.tumblr.com/private/110433916073/tumblr_njgf3eGkrp1r4aion).

\-----------------------------------

 

\-----------------------------------

He rolled into town with the fog. It overtook him soon enough. The streetlights smeared into yellow blotches that lit the thick grey fog more than they lit the way. A chill stole up the windows. There were, as far as he could tell, no other cars about. He could have been in a forest of will-o’-wisps for all he could tell of a town.

 

\-----------------------------------

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. Just as he was beginning to convince himself that it had only been the wind whistling its way through the house, he heard it again, unmistakable, sending a chill down his spine—and then suddenly, on the trail of the giggle, the roaring of a flame.

 

\-----------------------------------

“Flowers?” he said, for something to say but also in genuine puzzlement. Something nagged at him, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Kitty looked satisfied. Like any good storyteller, she’d anticipated that interruption. “The Greys were florists. They always had flowers in the house, sometimes even kept spare stock there. When Jean came back, she’d brought a lot of bouquets with her too. So both times, when the fire raged, Grey House smelled of more than smoke. Mostly, it smelled of all the flowers sweetly burning to ash.”


End file.
